Post by ovenfresh77 on Jun 24, 2012 21:08:14 GMT -5
The sun shun steadily through the open glass window, only interrupted by the snores of the man, seemingly tranquil, in his sleep. His grizzled appearance gives one the idea that he has seen more than his fair share in his day but they know not of how wrong they are. At the age of nineteen, this man knows nothing of the world around him. He knows nothing of the hardships or the struggles of the constant wars of this land. The only thing he knows for certain is how the bottom of a mead barrel looks like. The bruises on his face look as though they are fresh, perhaps from another drunken brawl he engaged in the night before. The man turns over in his sleep. Then, a sound. "Above? Outside? No it's below me!" The all too familiar sound of beating drums from the Pub below always wakes the man from his slumber. The man sits on his rented bed. His eyes still weary, his mind on the verge of complete madness. He has a hangover. He stumbles down the stairs and gives the bard a sinister look. The bard begins whistling a tune on his piccolo which was already in his mouth as if he was waiting for the man to come down as his queue to start playing. The man throws a few crowns on the counter."I need a pick-me-up" The lady obliges and pours a small cup of liquid. The man downs the beverage in a single gulp, puts down the cup, and walks out of the pub. As he turns the corner, he hears the music of the bard stop. The man mutters, "I hate bards"